


of all-nighters and little joys

by extremiss



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Established Relationship, M/M, also tsukishima is relatively nicer, domestic-ish, tsukishima is a dork, yamaguchi is also a dork
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-22
Updated: 2014-11-22
Packaged: 2018-02-26 13:24:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2653535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extremiss/pseuds/extremiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In his state of ennui, Tsukishima's mind drifts to wonder how Yamaguchi's doing.</p><p>He thinks about if Yamaguchi got home safely, and if he's napping soundly on the bed, wrapped in blankets that smell like marshmallows and the fabric softener Tsukishima picked up the other day. An irritating voice snaps out of his reverie, although, when his seatmate asks to copy his Genetics homework. </p><p>Time couldn't get any slower.</p>
            </blockquote>





	of all-nighters and little joys

**Author's Note:**

> i just rly like imagining that tsukishima and yams are still together in college aaa anyway enjoy
> 
> (x-posted on tumblr: http://kahrasuno.tumblr.com/post/103242284166/)

In his state of ennui, Tsukishima's mind drifts to wonder how Yamaguchi's doing.  
  
He thinks about if Yamaguchi got home safely, and if he's napping soundly on the bed, wrapped in blankets that smell like marshmallows and the fabric softener Tsukishima picked up the other day. An irritating voice snaps out of his reverie, although, when his seatmate asks to copy his Genetics homework.   
  
Time couldn't get any slower.

* * *

  
Tsukishima scuffles in the narrow alleyway preceding his destination, a small yawn tumbling from his lips. He blinks the sleepiness that cling to his eyelids away as he rounds the corner, right where the apartment complex was, and climbs onto the steps that ascended all the way to the third floor. With a silent sigh, he runs a hand through his blonde hair, notes how long it's gotten since the last time, and uses the same hand to turn the doorknob to his apartment.  
  
"I'm home." He says into the silence of the room.  
  
On the far end is the creature of habit himself—Yamaguchi. He sits, knees tucked under his arms, earphones plugged into either ear. His breathing is even, and his lips are pursed slightly in thought, as his eyes skim through a book. His fingers are splayed on the book's spine, and fairly new reading glasses perched atop his nose.   
  
Whatever from his hair is long enough to be pulled back into a short ponytail is bound together by a rubber band, while the spaces next to him on the couch are stacked with more and more pieces of literature— some of them Yamaguchi's even already read. Tsukishima has read a good bulk of them, too.   
  
So in still silence, Yamaguchi, clad in an oversized navy blue hoodie, props an elbow on his knee. A palm fits under his chin, head falling into a dozy tilt as the tip of his finger traces over a particular sentence. Tsukishima momentarily thinks the hoodie's much too big for him, especially around the sagging sleeves—and then he remembers: this was because it once belonged to _Tsukishima_ himself.   
  
He never actually got it back, he realizes. Yamaguchi had borrowed it once, but Tsukishima never found it back in its proper place in his closet ever again. (Yamaguchi had claimed two things: it was really cold in their apartment, and that it provides him with a sentimental sense of security when Tsukishima wasn't around—the latter made less sense but it's what tipped Tsukishima over). Yamaguchi has long since replaced the scent of the article of clothing from Tsukishima's to his own.  
  
Tsukishima unbuttons the next few buttons of his plaid shirt; he can't be bothered by any constrictions of fashion now anyway, now that only Yamaguchi's here to see him. He pads over to where the brunette is, looming over him from behind him.   
  
Yamaguchi, unflinching, only flips to the next page of his book. He begins to mindlessly play with the drawstrings of his ( _Tsukishima's_ ) hoodie, absorbed in the prose. Seeing as Yamaguchi was steadfast in his focus and intent in his reading, the taller plucks a bud out of Yamaguchi's ear, before leaning down to whisper, "You've already read that."  
  
Yamaguchi jumps in surprise, hands flying and thus causing the book to fall in his lap. Once the surprise subsides and is replaced with relief that Tsukishima wasn't actually some masked murderer or something, Yamaguchi exhales.  
  
"Ah, Kei, I didn't hear you come in." He says, subsequently pulling off his hair tie, and letting his hair strands fall back around his face and down his neck.   
  
After he's folded a dog ear on an old, browning page of his book, he removes his reading glasses, folding them and setting them aside on his books. He pushes all his paraphernalia out of the way and onto the wooden floor, so that Tsukishima can ungracefully slump onto the cushions. Which he does, but not without a sigh of relief.  
  
"Nice hair, dork." Yamaguchi snickers then, reaching up to ruffle the messier-and-longer-than-usual blonde locks on Tsukishima's head. To which Tsukishima frowns, touching where Yamaguchi had touched. He grumbles, " _Fine_ , I'll get it cut soon."  
  
"Aw," Yamaguchi coos, digging his knees and heels into the couch as he takes Tsukishima's face in his hands. (Yamaguchi also does this stupid thing where he scrunches his nose while he's grinning and Tsukishima finds it adorable, tries not to kiss all over his stupid face with his stupidly cute freckles.) "Why are you such a grump?"  
  
He doesn't dignify that with a response. Tsukishima only holds his hands there, his fingers loosely trapping his wrists. Yamaguchi is flashing a smile at him which flickers with a look that beckons some sort of challenge, almost, but all Tsukishima takes in is the charming crinkle of his eyes and the sincere upturn of the edge of his lips. Feeling a light affectionate throb in his chest, Tsukishima is about to crane his neck to meet Yamaguchi's lips—  
  
—but Yamaguchi is already gone with a blink of Tsukishima's eyes. He teasingly slides off the couch before Tsukishima could pull him back down. This leaves him hanging and staring aimlessly into the air instead. Whether Yamaguchi does this on purpose or not is a mystery. Dejected, Tsukishima sinks further into the couch like a true five year old.  
  
The shorter of the two catches sight of a plastic bag by Tsukishima's long legs (the same legs that bent awkwardly on the short couch— Tsukishima _still_ keeps growing and Yamaguchi keeps wondering how that's possible. It seems like he's stuck at 5'11). He picks it up curiously, inspecting the bag.  
  
"Please tell me this isn't another dead cat body," says Yamaguchi, alluding to Tsukishima's many dissection projects. He sounds horrified, and he hasn't even dared peek yet.   
  
It really can't be helped—Tsukishima had taken Biology as his course, mainly because it's what had sustainedly interested him since his days of youth. This is also why there had been instances where he'd return home with a depressed air around him and _yes_ , various dead animals. Yamaguchi ended up traumatized every single time. At least he's also reminded about how grateful he is that he'd taken Literature instead, thanks to Tsukishima.  
  
"No, idiot. It's fast food." Tsukishima replies, fond. There's a subtle smile on his face—one he reserves for Yamaguchi, only. While he isn't as perpetually angry and as callous as he was in high school, he still remains wary of expressing most of his more vulnerable emotions.  
  
Tsukishima swears Yamaguchi's eyes light up. It's anatomically impossible, yes, but Tsukishima sees a faint twinkle and a sheen of light dance around in dark brown irises— or maybe that's just one of Yamaguchi's impossible effects on him. The list of those was ever-lengthening. The thing that Tsukishima hangs onto was that Yamaguchi was still so easy to please after all these years.   
  
Said happiness personified stuffs his hand into the bag, pulling out his absolute favorite—french fries. The childish grin that breaks into his freckled face is enough to make Tsukishima laugh soundlessly under the back of his hand. "Oh my god," Yamaguchi breathes, overly dramatic. "I love you, Kei!"  
  
He climbs back next to Tsukishima, pressing himself onto Tsukishima's side with his arms wound around Tsukishima's neck. "I love you, I love you!" He repeats, and with each repetition, Tsukishima feels another piece of his soul wither away.   
  
"Okay okay, I get it." Tsukishima interrupts, the tips of his ears reddening uncharacteristically. He pushes his glasses further up the bridge of his nose in a false act of nonchalance. Yamaguchi's still grinning cheekily when Tsukishima looks up at him with his adjusted glasses.  
  
He pretends to be mildly pissed, which doesn't do anything; it only makes Yamaguchi huddle so close to him that really, half of Yamaguchi is on top of him. The other doesn't mind, though—in fact, he welcomes it.   
  
It's a nice, quiet, lazy, familiar feeling—Yamaguchi's head resting on the curve of his shoulder, and his arm around Yamaguchi's middle.   
  
The simple comfort they find in it, and the simple strain of happiness they're able to grasp are some things they'd gladly curl up in for the rest of the night, or even until tomorrow. Or tomorrow and the days after that— the eternity after that.   
  
They don't spare a single fleeting thought for the thesis Yamaguchi has due, and the practicals Tsukishima had only barely studied for, because when they're in this idleness together, it feels right.   
  
The dark circles under their eyes aren't so noticeable anymore, and the caffeine in their bloodstream is diluted by a calming feeling of sleepiness. Their chest, their stomachs, their brains, their limbs don't feel too tired, only peaceful.   
  
Yamaguchi's chomping on floppy fries, reveling in their squishy, salty taste on his tongue, while Tsukishima tells him about some idiot he was paired with for lab. Yamaguchi laughs, maybe at Tsukishima or the so-called idiot, or both—or maybe because some things never change.  
  
When night finally comes, Yamaguchi remembers a couple of things vaguely: a kiss pressed to his temple before he falls asleep, and a cotton blanket draped over his shivering body and his mountain of unfinished papers. Then, with a voice so soothing to Yamaguchi's barely-awake ears, and filled to the brim with earnest years-long of affection,  
  
"Goodnight, Tadashi."   
  
He hears that the lights are then switched off for his sake. But he presumes the lamp is kept open by the study table, as the blonde begins to read five inch-thick books on Botany.   
  
Some things do change, but to them, the changes have all been for the better.

* * *

  
The next day it's Tsukishima who arrives home early from his tests. 

Or he thinks as much.  
  
When he stands up to check the fridge, there's something that catches his eye— a note —written in handwriting he's seen countless of times before that he could probably replicate it, and a dumb-looking emoticon drawn in a hurry. He smiles to himself.


End file.
